


i saw the real you when everybody else wanted you gone

by thefirewildling



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Origin Story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 17:40:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3701073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefirewildling/pseuds/thefirewildling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The plan was so simple, an arrow through her heart and it would all be so quick she wouldn't even see it coming and then all his troubles would be solved, the job done and the actual nightmares he had had about ending her life would never be anything else but ridiculous. He really prayed they did.</p>
<p>Yes, this is another Clint/Natasha origin story. I'm trash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i saw the real you when everybody else wanted you gone

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where the inspiration for this story came from, but for some closure please listen to "Sad Beautiful Tragic" by Taylor Swift. IT. WILL. MAKE. YOU. CRY.  
> Anyways, I seriously hope you enjoy this. Feedback would be lovely :)

The first time Clint and Natasha shared a bed, neither of them actually slept.

Rain poured heavily outside the window of their motel room lost somewhere on the outskirts of Prague. A tree branch grazed the glass as lightning struck from time to time, illuminating the stained red walls of their room. Wide awake, Clint tried to make out shapes on the shadow the lightning left. His fingers tried to twist a hawk. Always a hawk.

The reason why neither of them slept was behind the events of the past 4 hours: It was the blood drops splattered on the bed and floor. It was not knowing what to expect from each other.

He tried not to stare at her too much, but that was a difficult task to manage. She had her back to him and wet red wine colored curls spread over the pillow. She had one of his t-shirts on because her own clothes had too much blood on them. She had a knife under her pillow and a half loaded gun on the bedside table, a gun that she had refused to leave while showering. Her hand held the metal headstand of the bed fiercely, prepared to get up at any moment.

When they told him his mission was to take down the infamous Black Widow, Clint shrugged because it was just a normal mission. A more difficult one, that’s for sure, since this woman knew how to live without a trace, escape the KGB and Red Room and even kill without leaving a single track (there was no actual guarantee that someone was lured in and then cold-heartedly killed by Natalia Allianova Romanova, S.H.I.E.L.D. could only presume, or even if you will, suspect that the deeds had been her work), but Clint always liked a challenge.

And he couldn’t have ever guessed how much of a challenge had it proven itself to be. He tailed for 3 months, 6 different cities and what Clint actually learned what that Natalia Romanova was definitely not what S.H.I.E.L.D. painted of her.

She killed, mercilessly. She was practically immune to pain, getting stabbed didn’t even slow her down. She was headstrong, she depicted indestructibility as a whole. Fierce in a goddess like way Clint failed miserably to understand. But underneath it all she was so fucking human, more human than half of the people he worked with at S.H.I.E.L.D.. She cried every night, curled up on her bed on top of the covers. She cried her hopes and dreams but by the second month Clint starts to wonder if she even has any because her childhood was miserable in every sense of the word.

By the beginning of the 3rd month the crying stopped and that’s how Clint knew she was onto him. Or maybe she knew he was tailing her all along and just didn’t bother, maybe she’s just done playing this game. Come-at-me-you-sick-motherfucker-let’s-see-what-you’re-worth.

But Clint waited just a few weeks longer. Meanwhile she carried on with her life, selling her very specific skillset to whomever. Hot teas quickly replaced the crying nights and she dances ballet at late hours in the morning after feeding stray cats out on the cold airs of Belgrade. Clint feels the human breathing through her pores, alive and kicking, the shadow of despair under the sun.

So when the day finally came, he awaited her inside the room she rented in a cheap hotel in Wenceslas Square at the ever growing heart of Prague. The plan was so simple, an arrow through her heart and it would all be so quick she wouldn’t even see it coming and then all his troubles would be solved, the job done and the actual nightmares he had had about ending her life would never be anything else but ridiculous. He really prayed they did.

Twilight was setting in, the sky was filled with dark clouds that allowed no light. Through her open window he could feel the breeze catching up and it overwhelmed him with certainty that the sky would weep tonight. For Natalia Romanova even.

But when she walked in on the door, ballet shoes on one hand and cradling a black cat to her chest with the other he realized he can’t do it. He couldn’t kill her. So at the very last moment his arrow shoots through the mirror centimeters away from her.

The shoes fall to the floor, but the cat is still with her. Lean fingers hold the gun to his skull.

“Bad shot.” She says, tense. Her voice lacked the Russian he expected her to have but still managed to keep the harmony and peace a normal person would never have in a situation like this.

His bow is drawn at her face although he doesn’t know what the point is anyway. He’s going to die right here because he can’t kill a Russian woman who cries because she’s been tortured her whole fucking life and has apparently just stole a cat. “I never miss.”

Her eyes widen, not understanding but doesn’t duel on it for long. She takes the safety of her gun. “Your mistake.” There isn’t a single trace of hesitation on her voice and Clint just knows that his life will mean nothing if he shoots her before she does him.

He doesn’t do it slowly, not like in the movies, not when her gun is about to go off. He lays his bow on the cold marble floor of her room.

Her eyes are green. Her eyes are green like the grass at a meadow during the spring.

Her eyes are green and they’re dead.

She’s incredulous and he sort of feels like he owes her an explanation.

“Look Miss Romanova – can I call you Natalia?” She gives him a killer look that he is pretty sure is actually lethal. “Umm right, Miss Romanova it is. Look I’ve been watching you for months …”

“I noticed” she announces and Clint isn’t sure but she looks slightly amused, but after all he’s only seen her laugh once in 3 months and it was when a cat licked her palm as a thank you for the food. If he had to bet on it, he would say that the cat she’s holding is the very same.

“Yes, I noticed you noticed. The obvious truth is that I was sent here to kill you.” Her hand grabs the gun a little tighter. “And I realize this is as new to you as it is to me, but I really don’t want to kill you. I… I can’t actually.” He admits.

She’s stunned, and clearly not used to this (but then again, who is?). The gun falls a few millimeters from her hand but she holds the cat tighter. She’s wary: surprised and cautious, yet still cunning.

“Why?” the word falls out of her mouth like it’s forbidden.

He doesn’t have time to answer. Shots get fired, and not _from_ her, _to_ her. Of course, he knows he’s not the only one hunting her down. He knows that she’s wanted for the blood she spilled, for her escape and being so skilled. He jumps in front of her, throwing them both to the ground with the impact. When he feels the bullet enter his abdomen he begins to wish he was like her, pain free since whenever. Clint was used to taking up a bullet or two, it comes with the job after all, but one to the side always hurt like a bitch. But he had to keep awake, had to help her out.

The cat ran away, the ballet shoes are nowhere to be seen and Clint is on the ground. However, she’s up and firing and he is glad he is awake enough to see the transformation from Natalia Romanova to Black Widow, but the pool of blood around him is alarming.

Who would have figured? He’d die by her hands if he didn’t kill her, he’d die by his own if he did. Turns out neither of the options happened but he’s dying anyway. He wondered what would happen once he died. But it’s a stupid question because the world would keep turning and Earth’s billions would keep living their lives. His bow would be lost here in Prague, his body as well because S.H.I.E.L.D. couldn’t come for him unless the mission is finished, they can’t jeopardize anything. Surely he would have a place somewhere in the heart of the not-so-heartless-after-all Black Widow because he let her live a bit longer. Coulson would miss him – SHIT COULSON.

Suddenly Clint is brought back out of his reverie (if you can call it that way) when a small hand touches his cheek lightly, the gunshot has died down. His eyes meet alarmed green ones for brief moments. “Stay awake.” She orders. It isn’t a plea, it’s more like an either you obey or you die kind of order, which in this case is very true. She’s treacherous: she’s nervous but she’s plotting an escape.

They can’t stay there. Oh, but he can’t find his body.

“You can go, Natalia. I’m fine here, I’ll find some pillows…” His comforting sarcasm in times of need gets interrupted by a sudden cough of blood. Great. It grazed an organ. Just great. “Just go, you need to run. Fast.” He’s so tired.

She ignores him and gets to work and it’s such a wonderful relief that he’s numb because she digs her slim fingers to retrieve the bullet. It hurts, but then again he’s had worse. She takes a knife from her boot and finds a match in one of the drawers by the broken mirror.  She places it now burning on top of his bullet wound and he squirms a bit, but it has to be done.

“Get up. We need to move.” Her voice is hoarse and Clint isn’t sure if he can actually get up since he was shot just 10 minutes ago but there isn’t any other option.

She grabs her gun, puts the burning knife back on her boot and then reaches for the cat and jumps out the broken window. He has a feeling she chose the first floor for this sole reason. He follows her and knows better than to question the cat.

She stands on the middle of the street on a blood stained blue dress and a messy bun of red curls on the top of her head that fell out of place during the shooting. She’s analyzing him as well, and he realizes he’s covered in a lot of blood, his bow at his back and the hand that isn’t on the gun is grabbing his just cauterized wound. It hurts like hell.

“Can we steal a car?” he tries to offer her a smirk but it comes out more as a grimace of pain. As a response she breaks the window of the first car she sees.

“Where are you staying?” she asks.

“Outskirts of Prague, cheap motel, _great_ TV.” She moves to the passenger side and that’s his cue to drive.

The trip seems to go on for hours although the black Skoda goes at almost its full speed. Her feet are on the dash and the clashing wind from both windows makes the loose strands of her hair dance. Her blood dirtied hand pets the black cat on her lap and he’s just starting to wonder what he got himself into.

And now here they were: lying next to each other on a cold blood stained bed at a Czech motel room with no TV, as he considers her former question.

And he knows she’s doing the same.

“It’s because I saw you. The real you, I mean.” He whispers, because it doesn’t seem right to break the silence between them. “It was because of the burning green teas and the flowers in-between books, the cats and the ballet and all of that. It was the fact that you cried and that I am an outsider who wasn’t supposed to have watched that because it’s none of my business. But I did watch it and I can more than tell you’re unhappy. Take this as a second chance, I suppose. We might not even see each other tomorrow morning, but I made a different call because you deserve so much more than what you’re getting.

He knows she listened to every word, he knows she’s not asleep. They don’t trust each other, not yet. His disposable sell rings. Only S.H.I.E.L.D. has this number.

“Barton”

“Where the fuck are you? There was a helicopter waiting for you behind the Castle. Clint, we debriefed” Coulson says on the other line.

“Yeah… ummm… There was a change of plans.” He admits embarrassed.

“What do you mean a change of plans?” Coulson doesn’t sound mad, he’s intrigued.

“I… I didn’t kill her.” And as he says it she turns around to face him.

“What do you mean you didn’t kill her?! Clint you had a mission you can’t just change your mind…” Never mind, he’s pissed.

“Just trust me, okay Coulson? She’s not what you think she is.”

There’s a pause on the other side and after about a minute Clint hears Coulson sigh.

“Fine. Make sure you’re on the plan B spot or else…”

“Yeah yeah, got it.” Clint hangs up with a smile on his face and turns to her.

“I’m Clint, by the way. I don’t think we’d gotten to this part before.”

From somewhere on the ground the cat purrs.

“Natasha” she says, and Clint doesn’t duel on it.

 


End file.
